Just a few weeks ago, I hit publish on a post that really hit a nerve.
I mean, let's call it like it is, I had some riled up mamas on my hands.
My Instagram was flooded with comments, the post hit 1,000 page views in the first hour that it was live and the opinions were decidedly split.
Should a stranger have told me to get my mom shit together?
And, now that the cat was out of the bag, should I actually get my mom shit together?
As mothers, the issue of prioritizing ourselves obviously runs deeper than a swipe of mascara or a few minutes wielding a blow dryer - I think, in general, we are fresh out of time, energy, and the two shits needed to even consider putting on a pair of pants with a button fly, but maybe that's just me.
And then I read your sassy remarks, thoughtful comments and direct emails in response to this very topic and it occurred to me that maybe I should put my money where my (gigantic) mouth is, ditch the old "but I'm a mom excuse" (and that comment about the button fly from five seconds ago) and get my shit together, you know, just in the name of blog research.
So I started pulling myself together every weekday.
Yep, every single one.
It honestly took some prioritizing - and some shuffling of the way I looked at things - I felt like I was giving up the tiny bit of Me Time that I had during the day by spending the babe's morning nap showering, doing my hair and make up and putting on an outfit. Typically, I would spend the morning nap (usually no more than an hour) with a giant cup of Starbucks and social media (whoa, reach for the stars there, mama!) and I cherished every.single.second. To give that up for something as tedious as a shower, a round brush and squeezing into actual pants sounded less that appetizing. But I did it.
And to prove it, I sent daily snaps of my mug to Meg. You can read her feedback and appreciate all of the glory that is our friendship.
Shockingly, with the exception of a few rouge moving days, I am still doing it.
Yep. You heard me.
My name is Stephanie, I am a work from home/stay at home mom and I pull myself together even though I know I may not lay eyes on another adult human during the course of an entire day.
And I like it.
So here's what I learned after a few days of getting ready during the baby's morning nap:
I honestly feel like I am a better mother on the days that I am put together than the days that I am a hot mess.
That's a bold statement, so before you get all riled up, let me try to explain.
I am a good mother greasy or clean (and so are you) but on the days that I took time to get my shit right in the hour that I had to myself, I felt like the day just felt smoother. I felt less harried and more....accomplished. Instead of this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wasn't getting anything done, that everything was a mess and that I had absolutely no time for myself, I felt more on top of things. Let me be clear that nothing else in my day to day life changed. There were still one billion puffs ground into the carpet and the baby still wore his pj's for most of the day, but I was different.
Instead of feeling like I
wanted needed the baby to entertain himself for just one minute so I could have 60 uninterrupted seconds to myself, I felt like I had time to sit in the play room and actually play with him. Instead of feeling so gross about my appearance that we slunk through the Chick - Fil - A drive through, we sent my husband a text and asked him to dine in with us at Chick- Fil - A instead (so, so fancy).
And speaking of my husband, I didn't look at the clock at 5 pm, realize he was (hopefully) on his way home and start making a mental list of all of the things we had accomplished that day (because my outward appearance clearly said zero) so that I would be ready to inform him when he walked in the door and surveyed the scene.
I am the first to admit that getting ready every single day is just not going to happen in my life as a stay at home mom to an 11 month old. But on the days that I can, I make it a priority.
And, that my friends, might have been just what I needed.
A moment, a simple activity like blow drying my hair that is just about me.
Just about me as a person, me without him, not me as his Mom.
So thank you to the semi-stranger who told me to get my shit together.
You were right.
ok, mamas, hit me with it. tell me what you think because I know you're thinking something!